


Writing Scripts Close to the Bone

by sarken



Category: Real News RPF
Genre: FNFF OT, Gen, Once and Future Sorkin Characters, Writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-06
Updated: 2009-04-06
Packaged: 2017-10-06 05:49:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarken/pseuds/sarken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keith, his writer's block, and Toby Ziegler's rubber ball interrupt Rachel's scriptwriting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Writing Scripts Close to the Bone

Rachel has pages and pages of articles scattered across her office floor, and her fingers are stained with toner and yellow highlighter. She's trying to ignore the rhythmic thumping against her door, but when the rhythm breaks, startling her, she jerks the highlighter across the page, straight onto the carpet.

With a sigh, she stands up, capping the marker and dropping it onto her desk as the thumping resumes. She opens the door and, one-handed, catches the rubber ball that comes hurtling at her.

"Nice catch, Xena," Keith says. He's sitting on a chair directly across from her door, a smirk on his face.

"Shut up," she says, tossing the ball back to him with an underhand throw. "What the heck, Keith? I'm trying to write my show."

"So am I," he says.

"Really?" she asks. "Because it sure seems like you were trying to annoy me."

"I'm multitasking," he says. "I have writer's block."

"So you thought you'd turn into Toby from The West Wing, what with the rubber ball and everything."

Keith sits forward. "What do you mean 'turn into Toby?' Aaron stole that from me."

"Mm," Rachel says, closing her office door. She leans against it and slowly sinks onto the floor, stretching her legs out in front of her. She cocks her head. "I can kind of see it, yeah, between the surliness, the bad suits, the Yankees worship, and the grammatical stick up your ass."

"To say nothing of my brother the astronaut."

Rachel's eyes go wide as she looks up at him. "Really?"

"Yeah, and my ex-wife the congresswoman." Keith chuckles and tosses the ball to her in a lazy arc. "You're too easy sometimes, kid."

She makes a face at him, tossing the ball back and forth between her hands. "So what do I have to do to become an Aaron Sorkin character? What traits am I lacking?"

"Not traits," Keith says. "Neuroses."

Rachel laughs. "Oh, I have plenty of those. You just haven't known me long enough."

Keith shakes his head. "You're not damaged enough."

"Again, you haven't known me long enough." She throws the ball, overhand but slow, and all but leaps to her feet after Keith catches it. "I can even do a walk-and-talk like nobody's business. What do you say you, me, and your writer's block pedeconference on out to the Mister Softee truck? There's nothing soft serve can't cure."

"You buying?" Keith asks as he gets to his feet.

"Let's not go crazy," Rachel says. "You and your neuroses have been doing this television thing way longer than I have -- you're the one with the millions. I think you can spring for a Drumstick or two."

Keith narrows his eyes at her. "I thought you wanted soft serve."

Rachel shrugs with one shoulder. "Well, since you're buying, I thought I'd at least splurge on the calories."

He heaves a long-suffering sigh. "All right, fine," he says. "But no sprinkles. I'm not made of money."


End file.
